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Note:
In the timeline of Kiki’s life, this short story comes after Picture,
Perfect, Corpse: Book #7 and before Group, Photo, Grave: Book #8.
Chapter
1
A
Wednesday in August…
“How’s
your mother feeling?” Lottie Feister quizzed my daughter Anya.
I
was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the shelving unit so I overheard
Lottie’s question. I thought about getting up and answering her myself, but I’d
sat down here for a purpose. I was searching for a particular sheet of
embellishments. I suppose I could have made my presence known, but I didn’t
feel like moving. An hour earlier I’d had a particularly nasty bout of morning
sickness. Right now, sitting still suited me—and yes, I was a little curious
about Lottie’s interest.
“Mom’s fine, I guess. She gets pretty
sick to her stomach, but she told me that’s normal. In fact, I went with her to
the doctor for an appointment, and the physician’s assistant said that morning
sickness is a good sign. That it means Mom’s hormones are changing,” said Anya.
“I hope she can keep working
throughout her pregnancy,” said Lottie. “This store is like a second home to
most of us.”
She was referencing Time in a Bottle,
the scrapbook and craft store that I was buying. Now I felt glad I’d overheard
Lottie’s questions. She probably represented the thinking of most of our
patrons. As soon as I could, I would talk to my co-workers. Together we could
brainstorm steps to take to reassure our customers. The last thing I wanted was
for them to switch loyalties! Not when we’d worked so hard to become their
primary source for all their papercrafting needs.
Bless Lottie’s heart, she was a yenta, which is Yiddish for “busybody,”
not “matchmaker” as people have erroneously assumed because of Fiddler on the
Roof. Ever since Lottie’s husband died of pancreatic cancer, she’s a lonely
woman. The store has become the hub of her social activities—and I understand
that. I’ve been there myself. But sometimes Lottie crosses a line. She’s
incredibly curious about me and my life, and she’s taken to pumping everyone
who works here for more information. Personal information that’s not really any
of her business.
My name is Kiki Lowenstein. I’m a
single mom to Anya, who is thirteen-going-on-thirty. My daughter and I are very
close, especially since her father George Lowenstein was murdered nearly three
years ago. This summer Anya begged me to let her work in the store rather than
send her off to summer camp, which she dismissed as being “for babies.” I
agreed to the arrangement for many reasons. Most of all, this might be our last
chance to have a summer all to ourselves. But when I set down the rules for her
“employment,” I forgot to warn her that a few of our customers might try to
pump her for details of my private life.
Clearly an oversight on my part.
I am, after all, a bit of a curiosity.
Even though my sweetheart, Detective Chad Detweiler, wants to marry me, I have
declined his offer. I was pregnant with Anya when I married George, and that
feeling of shame stained our entire marriage. I expected too little from George
because I knew he had married me out of a sense of obligation. Not out of love.
When I marry Detweiler—and I plan to do just that—I want to feel confident that
he’s marrying me because he wants me as his wife, not because I am his baby
mama.
All that aside, Chandler Detweiler has
told me over and over that he wants me. Me. Pregnant. Non-pregnant. Whatever.
“There’s only one you in the world, Kiki, and you’re the person I want to spend
my life with.”
You can’t get much more loving than
that!
But then, there’s my growing baby
bump. And my rampant hormones. I admit that some days I feel overwhelmed by it
all.
Most of the woman who frequent Time in
a Bottle are a bit old-fashioned. They think I am making a mistake by waiting
to marry Detweiler. They point out that my baby is his child, and therefore, my
little one is entitled to legal protections offered by marriage. They also note
that something could go drastically wrong when I give birth. In that case,
Detweiler needs the right to step in and make decisions.
Ugh.
I know they’re right, but that’s too upsetting to contemplate.
Perhaps
their most compelling argument is money. As a St. Louis County law enforcement
officer, Detweiler has terrific benefits. I have none. When I think about the
expenses associated with having a baby, I wonder if my women friends are right.
But
I made a promise to Anya that I wouldn’t marry Detweiler before the baby came.
She had a little melt-down when she realized that she’s be the only Lowenstein
left in our family because her grandmother, Sheila, is getting married, too.
And
I intend to keep my promise to my daughter. I owe her that.
So
I’m anticipating the costs of having a baby. I’ve been pinching every penny
that comes my way. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve got a smear of
copper on my fingertips.
Meanwhile,
I need to stand tough while people question my decisions. It wasn’t as if I
hadn’t considered the impact of my choices on Anya. It’s just that I didn’t
realize how bold people would be in pestering her with questions.
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